The Bargain
by Xxsweet-venom-kissxX
Summary: In her haste, she left behind the one garment he coveted: a scarf. Unable to capture her on-sight, and the scent trail cold, he keeps it. Just in case.  He didn't except the owner to drop in on the camp, and make a deal to get it back…
1. The Chase

**Summary: In her haste, she left behind the one garment he coveted: a scarf. Unable to capture her on-sight, and the scent trail cold, he keeps it. Just in case. ****He didn't except the owner to drop in on the camp, and bargain for it back…**

**Pairing: ScabiorxOC**

**Rating: M, for adult themes later on.**

****This is my first attempt at an M-rated fic; yes, it will contain a smut scene. This is already written in its entirety. I'll put up a new chapter every few days (four in all, it's a short piece). This is pretty much a loose-plot-in-order-to-write-some-Scabior-smut thing. ****

****Anyway...****

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><p>Winter had finally broken, the snow had stopped falling. Spring was trying to break through, but it was still cold, the ground was still hard, and there was no green to be found. At least it was pretty when it snowed, despite the gray, gloomy sky. Now it just looked horrible. Wet. Gray. Sometimes fog set in.<p>

It was a nasty time, reflecting the things that were going on. She would wonder if the fog was Dementors, not nature, but there weren't sightings of floating, dark figures. Most of the Dementors were at Hogwarts, and at the Ministry. Not here. That's what the Snatchers were for.

She had nothing to really fear, being a half-blood. She was linked to a pureblood father, and his lineage. Her mother, a Muggleborn, had to suffer through a trial with Umbridge. She was always frail, emotionally. Even though her father pulled strings to ensure she wouldn't be given the Kiss, she had not made it out of the ordeal whole. Her mother laid in bed most of the time now, occasionally crying, occasionally moving out of bed to the window-seat.

In perspective, as much as Riley hated to think this way, it wasn't the worst fate. She was alive, right? Maybe not her usual self, but her mother was alive.

That couldn't be said for some of the lot she was staying with.

She was in one of the two tents the group of seven had; one for the girls, one of the boys. Three girls, four boys. It was mostly those who had graduated Hogwarts already; they used to work at the Ministry, or in the Alley. There was one boy among them who didn't go back for his seventh year. They let him stay, only because he could cook.

She was in the middle, at nineteen. She was an Auror when they were investigating their mother, and abandoned her post when she realized the things that were going on. Said good-bye to her parents, shouldered her pack, and Apparated to the first place she thought of. If she would be found guilty of anything, it'd be going AWOL. But they'd find something to pin to her on top of that, and she hated the Ministry and the Death Eaters. All of this was stupid and discriminatory. Their own government overthrown; the claim that the Minister stepped down was a downright lie.

Scrimgeour wouldn't retire even if Death was in front of his desk, scythe in hand. Anyone who had worked with him in the Magical Department of Law Enforcement knew that, dammit.

"Riley, dinner's ready," Hannah, a petite blonde, said as she peeked into the tent.

"I'll be out in a second."

She got up from her cot, ruffling her brown hair. Sleep grasped her eyes, boredom having set in for too long. She rubbed her grey eyes with the heels of her palms, which did nothing.

She threw on her jacket in a last minute decision; it was cool enough to warrant it, but warm enough to not have to wear five layers. Pushing aside the canvas flap, she made her way to the tree stump that had become known as her seat.

Martin, the seventh year whose hair had not been cut in some time, was stirring some sort of stew, which smelled wonderful. They had gotten their hands on some chicken, and Riley was looking forward to it.

"Saw a Snatcher today," Amber commented. It wasn't her hair that matched her name, but her eyes. A deep red-gold that reminded Riley of a feral beast. "Just one. He was sent to look for firewood, I think. Didn't look happy about it."

"We'll be fine so long as the wards are in place," Anthony muttered, his nose in a book like always.

"And what if one of us makes a mistake? If they're nearby…" Lawrence began, but was hushed by Riley with a hand. He may have been the eldest, at twenty-one, but he was never aware of how loud he could get. _Muffliato_ was in place, but there was no need to raise voices.

"Let's just get through dinner." She did a quick head-count; there were six of them, including herself. "Where's David?"

"Went to the nearest village for supplies. Said he'd be back by now…" Martin answered, spooning the rich stew into a bowl and passing it to Anthony.

They waited until all six of them had a bowl before digging in. It was warm, savory. The chicken tasted exquisite, something they hadn't had in so long. Nostalgia seemed to cross everyone's face at some point during dinner; they were reminded of home.

The fire was the only source of light, an orange glow giving facial features a bit of distortion. They talked, remembered things. Riley played with the scarf that was loose around her jacket's collar, purple and blue and pink and orange, with a paisley pattern painfully embroidered by hand by her mother. The last thing she made before the trial.

"I hate this, this whole situation. I miss home. I miss my parents. Hell, I miss the old lady down the hall who'd snore and wake up half the block…" Hannah murmured. "All because of this stupid Dark wizard named V-"

"Don't say it!" David's voice carried throughout the campsite, but he was inside the barriers; no one would have heard it except them. He was carrying a heavy back-pack, and set it on the ground with a soft thud. "Do not utter that name…" His blonde hair was caked with dirt, and possibly blood.

"What name, Vold-" Anthony was silenced by David rushing at him, the two of them meeting the hard ground. "-mort." The last part came out as a gasp, air leaving Anthony's lungs.

There were a few sudden cracks, new feet landing on twigs, holding their landing for a moment. Six Snatchers; she recognized Fenrir Greyback instantly. Riley caught sight of a man in plaid pants before standing up, taking a few steps back and then turning and full-blown sprinting out of there.

"Are you morons waitin' for the next century? Get them!"

They scattered, the seven of them fending for themselves. Her wand slid from her sleeve, and she sent a leg-locking curse behind her, hoping it hit a Snatcher. She wasn't going to look back. She couldn't afford to.

Run. Just keep running. She'd hit the river in a little while, and she could decide then.

Her heart beat like a drum, pounding and pounding. Her lungs felt like someone had poured Firewhiskey in them, burning in a way that only came from running for your life.

The river, while usually very low and easy to cross, had become stronger with the melted snow and ice. There was a current, no doubt, and it was heard before it was seen.

She couldn't cross it.

She could Apparate away. But Snatchers could sometimes catch people that way, depending on how much time passed by the time the Snatcher reached the spot of Apparation. They could sometimes follow the small bit of energy that remained to where their prey went. Judging from the footfalls, they weren't far enough behind for it to be a viable option.

She'd have to go in.

The water came to her waist, pushing her downstream. Undertoe snagged her and brought her under. Shit. She'd underestimated this. Air. She needed air. But was it safe to get air? What if someone saw her?

She risked it, fighting the current and going up for air. She was far away by now; the forest was thicker here, the trees older. She could just make out voices, distantly. No wand light to be seen, no firelight. Far from where she'd come.

They had gotten Martin; his screams were piercing the evening, disturbing every creature that could hear them.

It was still too much fighting to try and grab a hold of some land, just flop on the edge even-she couldn't get proper footing. The water was freezing, and she had no extra clothes. She still had her wand, tight in her hand. The water calmed a bit about a mile down, when she was properly able to place her feet on the muddy bottom.

Riley trudged into the muddy banks, soaked to the bone. She needed to find shelter, set the wards, and get dry. She shook her head like a dog, trying to rid her hair of the extra weight. She was met with a mouthful of wet hair and sputtered.

There was hollowed-out log nearby. Large enough for her to crawl through and then some. She kicked it, muttered _Homenum Revelio_. Nothing. No nearby humans. Beggers couldn't be choosers; she needed to hide and this log was her chance.

She set about the protective enchantments, charmed dry what she could, and crawled into the log as Martin's screams finally died out. She reached for her scarf, the one comfort she went to when things like this happened.

It wasn't there. She cursed herself in her sleep that night, hoping it fell into the water so there was no scent to be found. Not that it mattered, hopefully the river had removed any traces of definitive scent from her.

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><p>He had gone after the pretty ones, of course. There had been a lovely thin blonde, and a tan girl with crazy-colored eyes, and the one with the scarf. One of them was bound to get away; six going after seven that scattered in all directions.<p>

Scabior's eyes fell upon a piece of cloth snagged on a branch; the height that was right around that girl's neck. She had lost it, and not known it. Or she laid it to set a false trail. But she had been running the entire time, she wouldn't have stopped to do such a stupid thing…

He took the soft material in his hands, and brought it to his nose. Campfire. Traces of vanilla and mint. Perfume or lotion, he guessed. It wasn't exactly easy to snag a bath every day when the water was still freezing. She had to smell decent somehow.

He followed the smell, weaving through trees to the river. Water rushed passed him. No recent Apparation activity. And she couldn't have crossed it.

Scabior stared at the muddy water, carrying chunks of snow and earth. At her size, she wouldn't have been able to survive that. If she didn't get caught in the undertoe, maybe a chance of survival, if she got out and warmed up quickly enough.

He gave the scarf one last sniff, before pocketing it. He needed to have a fresh scent source, not marred by his own.

The boy they captured had to have been a Hogwarts kid. Skipped the train, went into hiding. He'd be brought back in a few days, after they tried to get him to give the names of who he was staying with.

And he so hoped that lovely smelling girl was on the list.


	2. The Deal

**Special thanks to scabiorxxx and BlueNeutrino for the reviews, and anyone who put it on alert or their faves list. **

**Like I said, I'll put a new one up every few days. I work Friday nights and Saturdays now (closing shift and then back at 8:50AM and staying until 5:00), so I figure I'll put this up before I have to pull two days of not really being online. **

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><p>She woke, feeling extremely gritty despite having taken that swim. Her body was stiff, uncooperative. And she had a headache and growling stomach to boot. It was like a knife was being pushed behind her eyes, sweet Merlin. Dehydration was likely as well, they had been running low on water and rationed it accordingly.<p>

She couldn't go back. She was on the other side of the river, for starters. And they'd expect it. Auror training was kicking in. Survival. Water and food. Take in your surroundings, remember where you were. These thoughts were accompanied by the line that had been drilled into their brains when Moody was training them for a time: constant vigilance.

She supposed she could get some water from the river. As for food…it was still the time when nothing was really growing. Fish were a rare sight, but maybe some were heading upstream.

She'd figure it out. Maybe Apparate away, even. But without supplies, without money or something to put nabbed food into, and with people realizing she's hoofing it for a reason…they'd figure it out too. Her clothes were filthy from her trip into the part of the river that was churning silt and snow, and she looked every bit like a runaway.

Riley crawled out, stretched, and headed for the river for water. It might not be perfectly clean (it ran clear down here at least, for which she was thankful), but it was water nonetheless. No time to care about that stuff called 'bacteria'.

The sun grew high in the sky, and she shed her coat some time later, tying it around her waist. She scavenged, digging up roots, following hoof-prints of deer. She spotted a rabbit, but it was too quick for her. Where there's other life, there's food.

She found little. The roots weren't much, but she could trick herself if she chewed long enough as she walked and followed the river. Had she excelled in cooking spells or transfiguring food from inedible to edible, she would probably have better luck.

It was a stupid idea, really, to keep moving. But so was staying in one place. If there was a chance of not sleeping in a log, she'd take it…

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><p>Some days later, after suffering through a growling stomach that never ceased, she stumbled across a fallen tree that created a make-shift bridge. The roots stood high in the air; it wasn't a forced fall, no one had caused the tree to fall in order to cross on purpose. Time had taken its toll and the tree could no longer stand.<p>

If it got her across the river, she really didn't care whether it was forced down or not.

She hopped off the trunk, leaves and twigs crunching under her feet. Riley paused, waiting for a moment. Another rabbit scurried away. Nothing else.

She looked to her right, up an incline. Was that…a tent…? Surely…if it was a Snatcher camp, they weren't completely dim. They would have enchantments. She wouldn't be able to see it if it was a Snatcher camp. Maybe it was just some Muggles, camping early. It was the late afternoon, hardly strange to pitch camp at such a time.

Unless someone never finished the wards, leaving the back of the tent exposed. Snatchers might be dim enough to do that.

Riley pushed herself, trudging up the hill. She knew if that camp held Snatchers that hadn't left, she was doomed. Desperation made people do stupid things, and she guessed this was one of them.

There was a single man, sitting hunched over on a log by the embers of a dying fire. He held a metal cup, steaming. Coffee. Ooh, sweet coffee. Caffeine. Sugar. Bitter warmth.

She silently pulled out her wand, muttering _Stupefy_ under her breath. He fell over with a thud. No one else came outside. They left a single person in charge of the camp. So, no prisoners. They either killed Martin or took him to Hogwarts. They hadn't found the others. Good.

Helping herself to some coffee, she sipped the bitter liquid as she rummaged through their wares. She recognized a few of the parcels, as they were taken from her camp. That meant…she dug through a sack and found an apple. Yes, she had risked her neck for these in the nearby market in the village. She bit into the fruit, the skin snapping and crunching under her teeth. It awoke the hunger that she had been ignoring, but knew if she ate too much, she'd simply get sick.

Riley now took the time to look at the stunned man on the forest floor. He was one of the men who shrank into the background that night. Yes. This was the camp with Fenrir, and that strange man with the plaid pants. He was in charge. Rumors gave him a name…what was it…Scabior? Yes. The man with a nose for tracking.

Tracking.

Scent.

Her scarf.

She peered into the largest tent, or so it seemed by outside appearance since she knew they had to be bigger inside. She found a cot to the back on a raised level, a sectioned-off half-lavatory (no shower or tub), a second cot to her left, and a small table on her right with papers, a lamp, and a discarded tea cup. Relatively neat for a Snatcher. No visible scarf. And she wasn't about to go looking for it, in case he noticed someone went through his things. If she wanted her mother's scarf back, she'd have to ask the man in charge himself.

Riley shook her head. She went from worrying about food to wanting her scarf back. Priorities. Holding sentimental objects over food. That scarf got her through a lot of emotional bullshit, but it certainly never saved her from starving. The desire to have what was hers back outweighed the desire to escape; she had food for a moment, and if this was the right camp, she'd be able to get it back. Maybe.

If she wanted her scarf, she'd just have to stay and wait for them. That meant potentially running again or being caught and becoming a prisoner. Or being handed to the Ministry.

She wouldn't get off easy, considering she ran from her post because of a conflict of ideals. Branded a blood-traitor. She couldn't go back.

But if she left, she'd lose the one thing that reminded her of a woman that was a mother, not a shell of a human. Something from before all of this bullshit. Something that reminded her that everything might work out, and that maybe Potter was their only hope.

She nabbed herself another apple and sat down on a log. Fine. She'd wait.

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><p>Scabior glowered, clearly frustrated. They had just gotten the gold for turning in that runaway student, the price being far lowered than he expected. That pink lady refused to give him more gold, and he had to haggle and accept a compromised amount because the fighting would only increase his chances of losing his position as leader. And there was no way in hell he'd take orders from Greyback.<p>

They had to move on. No use staying where no one was. At least they could survive a bit on the food they took, because they were all low on gold and couldn't buy much of anything.

He pulled out a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, tipping it upside down and tapping it once or twice. He took a loosened one with his mouth, and shoved the pack in his pocket again. A box of matches followed; he found something satisfying about using a source of fire-starting rather than his wand. There was something different about using a match or a lighter, the effort needed to light it making the cigarette a little more worth it.

He blew smoke out of his nose, something he probably shouldn't do if he wanted to keep his good sense of smell.

They came upon their camp, with Erikson no-where in sight. In his place…a girl. She wasn't bound, she wasn't scared. Her legs were crossed, and her grey eyes locked on him as she bit into an apple. She clearly hadn't been sleeping right, light rings sitting under her eyes.

"An' 'ow did you get here, beautiful?" Scabior narrows his eyes, taking a drag of the cigarette.

"Someone didn't finish the wards. I saw the tent from the river." She had to have been with that group. She wasn't nervous, wasn't wondering why three man were pointing wands at her, a fourth drooling over a possible meal.

"Where's Erikson?"

"Knocked out. I slipped him into that tent." She pointed to the one she had pulled the heavy man into.

"Sweetheart, you do know who you're messin' wit', right? That apple you 'old, that's not yours."

"I wasn't aware morals were upheld by such outstanding members of society who are sent out to hunt down those the Ministry wants for questioning…the dirty work."

Shit, when had she gotten so snarky? Was it the conditions setting in? She was grumpy when she didn't eat, and she was far from satisfied with only the two apples. Or was she seriously letting go of the months of anger that sat in her stomach like lead?

He stared at her, anger written in his features. He finished the cigarette, and strode over to her, picking her up by her jacket, lifting her off the ground. His breath was hot on her face, and she could smell the tobacco, the campfire, coffee and a bit of alcohol. She stared right back into his eyes, grey locking onto blue again.

He was handsome, in a strange way. His hair was barely restrained by a single ribbon, a streak of red to match the band on his arm. Handsome and dangerous.

Or maybe that was the lack of human interaction talking.

"What's your name, beautiful?"

"Riley Trescott. Half-blood."

He took her chin between his thumb and forefinger, pulling her head to view her profile. He had seen her before…

"Says she's wanted for skipping her guard post at the Department of Mysteries, Scabior. Gone AWOL. Decent amount of galleons on her head…must be a blood-traitor, then..." Someone had checked the book of names.

"Well, well. You made a big mistake coming here, Riley…" Scabior nuzzled just below her ear. He remembered her now. She did speak out against the Ministry's ideals, refusing her orders when they conflicted her personal morals. Her mother was a Mudblood, something she was proud of. But fear had sent her out here, living with others.

"I lost a scarf, when I was running," she murmured. "Was it found?"

He pulled away from her neck, raising an eyebrow at her. "You're potentially goin' to be turned over to Dementors, an' you're worried about a scarf, love?"

"It's…the last thing I've got of my home. Before all this shit. I just wanted to know…"

He placed her atop the log, motioning her to stand there and do nothing stupid. Scabior pulled out a scarf, the pattern distinct to her. She nodded.

"You're in a bad position. We can 'and you over for a good amount of galleons. We could keep you prisoner. We could get it over wit' an' just kill you. I can give you to Greyback. You're an Auror. You know 'ow to bargain." He cocked his head to the side, waiting.

"Well, what do you want?"

"A great many things, love."

His hands crept to her hips, slipping his hands just under her shirt, sitting against the bare flesh of where her waist curved in. She flinched; his hands were cold.

"Share my bed." His nose went back to the spot under her ear. "Are you untouched?" A murmur, although their proximity didn't seem to bother the others in the slightest so had he said it louder, they might have simply laughed.

"Yes." She whispered.

A deep chuckle, lips meeting her skin. She shivered.

"I repeat: share my bed. Let me give you somethin' to remember. Shame to let you potentially die a virgin. And you'll get your scarf, and your freedom."

It wasn't like she had been saving herself; she had just never bothered to find someone. She was trying to survive; sex had been the last thing from her mind. An hour or so with this man would earn her what she wanted. It helped that he was good-looking, she had to admit. The promise of a bed helped too, assuming he didn't throw her out of the camp when he was done.

"Yes."

As soon as said the words, his lips crashed upon hers. Not urgent, not demanding, but not gentle. Simply dominating. He pulled away, leaving her to lean in slightly. He smirked, her carnal hunger catching up with her.

He put to hands on her waist and lifted her off of the log to beside him. He slipped one arm around her waist, holding her to him, and took her hand with his other. He was making it known that no one should touch her but him, should the men get any ideas. She was eager, but there was no mistaking the sudden fear in her eyes. He'd take her out of prying eyes and ears, out of the vicinity of Greyback.

"Get movin', you lot. You're Snatchers, aren't you? Someone wake up Erikson and take 'is post. Do not disturb me, unless you find the bloody Chosen One…"


	3. The Act

**Alright. This was supposed to be up yesterday, but a friend kept texting me and we hung out and I think I'm running on four hours of sleep at the moment.  
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**Thank you, again, for the reviews, faves, alerts, all that jazz. **

**Forewarning, this chapter is the reason it's rated M. I've never actually put up a smut scene before, so again, if it's a bit...amateurish, that's why. I drew a bit from the Scabior kinks on Tumblr, the ring portion; someone wrote a small thing about Scabior's ring and I liked it. Just gonna say that it's a bit of a shout-out to the Tumblr community...I feel like I live on Tumblr. I'm going to shut my mouth now.  
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><p>He ushered Riley inside, and she stood in the middle of the tent while he secured the flap of the tent and cast <em>Muffliato<em>. On other occasions, he might not have cared; he wanted the screams and moans of the Mudbloods to be heard. But this was consensual. A deal about which she was nervous, there was no denying that. He'd spare her that embarrassment of walking out to men who had heard everything.

She had pulled off her trainers, leaving her in grey socks as she pushed the shoes to the side. He stood behind her, his chest against his back and held out a hand, waiting.

"Your wand, Riley."

She slid her wand down her sleeve, holding it for a moment between her fingertips before gingerly handing it over. She turned her head enough to see that he was setting it down on the table, atop all of the maps and papers. He placed his own there as well. There. No advantages. He wasn't going to need it anyway. She would follow through on her end of the bargain if she wanted to not end up at the Ministry, nervous or not.

He went back to her, fingers grasping at the front of her jacket and pulling it from her, down her arms. He dangled it for a moment before dropping it to the floor. He could see her figure much better, unobstructed by the garment. She came to his chest in height, something he didn't notice before. How endearing.

He spun her around, and felt like he was working with a doll.

She reached out her hands, running them over his vest and over his shoulders, pushing his heavy jacket off and onto the floor. She was out of her field here and it annoyed her, her own hesitancy.

Her thoughts stopped as he stooped down to kiss her, hungrily. His tongue sought hers, the taste of tobacco invading her mouth. She responded, returning her hands to his chest. His hands found her wrists, bringing her hands up to the knot of his scarf. She untied it, unraveling the long piece of cloth while still lip-locked; he was busy pushing the flannel she wore away from her body, succeeding as she shook it free herself. They continued: his vest; her long sleeve shirt; his long sleeve shirt.

All the while, he was pushing her towards the bed in the back. He reached around and unhooked her bra, sliding that from her, leaving her only in her dirty jeans and socks. His lips found her neck and he grasped her thighs, pulling her up with ease. She hooked her legs behind him, feeling his arousal. Bare chest against bare chest, warmth in the chilly late afternoon.

He climbed onto the bed, laying her down under him. He broke away, and there was no mistaking the moan when his lips left her neck. Her face was flushed, and she was trying to relax her breathing. He began working down, kissing her collarbone, her sternum. He loved when she bucked beneath him as he kneaded one breast, took the other in his mouth. Moaning already and he had only just begun.

"Tell me, love. Why wait this long?" He was back at her neck, right below her ear.

"I just never bothered."

He gave a hum of contemplation, brushing himself against her thigh. Her hips rose up to meet his. Her hands went for his belt but he stopped her, positioning her arms around his neck.

"Patience." He gave a bit of a dark chuckle, knowing that waiting was probably frustrating her.

He went for her pants, undoing the button and zipper. He pulled them from her hips, letting her shimmy her way out of them. Her underwear came next, which was flung to the side.

She was completely bare in front of a man she didn't even know. She knew this would be nothing like being with someone she loved, someone who cared about her or vice-versa. But it guaranteed she would not be turned over to the Dementors. She felt fingertips on her lips, brushing her cheek.

He had kept his ring on, the piece of jewelry only ever being removed in times of necessity (almost never). He dragged his finger over her cheek, the metal cutting away at her skin and leaving a thin mark that bled ever so slightly. The tip of his tongue traced the mark, licking away the blood. He continued this across her torso; once at her collarbone, once on each breast. Several times on her abdomen, harder than before.

Her hand found the base of his neck, fingers holding onto his hair, trying to keep him against her skin.

He worked his way back up, assaulting her mouth; she could taste the metallic tang on her own blood. He ran a hand through her hair, pushing it from her face, tangling his fingers in the dark locks.

His other hand traced down her torso, between her legs. He pulled a bit at her hair as he thrust in one finger, and then added another after she responded with a stifled moan. His lips found hers as he continued the movement. Her hands had found his belt again, unfastening it and unbuttoning his pants, pushing them down his hips. She ran a finger over his length, a feather-light touch that received a grunt in response. She grasped him, moving her hand up and down in time with his fingers.

"Are you sure you haven't done this before?"

He was only teasing, he could tell that she hadn't; she was a bit clumsy, hesitant about touching him. She was close now, he could see her limbs beginning to tremble. He removed his fingers, and she ran her index finger over him one more time.

"Why, because I'm touching you? Am I not allowed to at least try and make it a bit worthwhile for you…?"

"Oh, believe me, it's worthwhile." He seized her mouth again, roughly. "Ready, love?"

She felt him shift, positioning himself at her entrance. She nodded, knowing it was going to hurt but she got the feeling he'd get a kick out of her pain.

She cried out as her entered her all at once, and she immediately tensed up, her teeth finding the nearest thing which happened to be his shoulder. He didn't move for a moment, giving her time to adjust.

"Relax. This will not go well if you don't, beautiful." He spoke in a calm voice, meant to soothe her, but there was an underlying threat. Relax and comply and this will work out as intended.

She released her teeth from his flesh, relaxing her hips.

He pulled out, entering her again and eliciting a soft moan that still carried traces of pain. He began increasing his pace, his harsher thrusts earning a gasp or moan. He still had his hand in her hair, tugging her head back. His teeth grazed her neck. Her arms had reached around him some time earlier, the occasional graze of nails exciting him more. She dug her nails into his flesh and gave a shaky moan as she came. Certainly not the greatest one a woman had had with him, but that was the inexperience on her part.

The first time was never the best.

He soon followed, releasing inside of her. He stayed inside her for a moment before pulling out and rolling onto the bed beside her.

He looked at her, brushing a strand of hair off of her face. Her grey eyes were closed, the exhaustion compounding and finally hitting her. She moved slowly, carefully, rolling onto her left side; facing him. Scabior reached down, pulling the blanket that had been kicked to the bottom of the bed up and over her naked form. Riley's hands found the material, pulling it to her and cuddling into it like a child.

Scabior got up from the bed, walking around it and grabbing his clothes as he went. He dressed slowly, feeling a tad lazy at going back outside. But he still had a band of Snatchers to lead. He couldn't lie in bed with her all evening. He grabbed his wand, and at a second thought, took hers as well and tucked it into the inside pocket of his jacket for safe keeping. He glanced at her form one last time, her back to him. He unfastened the flap and stepped outside into the firelight, and flicked his wand to close it back up. He stood there for a moment, digging through his pockets for his pack of cigarettes and a match.

"Matthews, 'ow long 'til dinner's ready?"

"About 'alf an 'our, boss." He was one of the brighter ones of the group, and knew how to assemble a decent meal.

Scabior pointed to the tent and Matthews nodded in comprehension; he was to watch her and give her food when or if she woke up and came out of the tent.

The leader motioned for the rest to follow him, and they disappeared into the evening. Half an hour was plenty of time to find a potential trail.


	4. The Conclusion

**Thanks again, everyone. Brightens my day to see those reviews and faves and alerts.**

****This is the conclusion to this quick affair. In a way. You'll see what I mean. ****

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><p>Riley's eyes refused to cooperate. She didn't want to open them and yet she found herself staring at canvas. She heard birds outside, chirping. That there was even light in the tent meant it was morning, at least. Had she slept through the evening and the entire night? Really?<p>

Her stomach growled in reply. Not that it had been full in days, but it'd been a while since those apples.

She shifted, hissing at the pain that shot through her lower region. Memories of the previous day came back to her and she looked around the tent to find Scabior absent. A part of her wanted him back, wanted his lips dominating hers, their hips grinding…

"It was a bloody business arrangement. Shut up." She whispered to herself, taking the heel of her hand to her forehead a few times, as if it would help.

She had missed a bed. Missed blankets. Missed being in a tent. She didn't want to get out of the bed, even if it belonged to a Snatcher. It was warm.

She was facing the rest of the tent, and she could clearly see the front flap, fastened shut. Her clothes had been picked up, folded, and placed on the table that was previously home to maps and lists and flyers. It looked as though Scabior had cleaned up slightly, as if getting ready to move camp.

Clenching her teeth, she got up and made her way towards the pile of clothing. They had once been caked with sweat and dirt; she was staring at clothes spelled clean. She threw on her undergarments, and slide into her jeans first, getting the increase in pain over and done with.

She was slipping her long sleeve shirt over head as she heard the canvas unfasten. Turning, she saw a leg donned in plaid stepped inside, followed by a whole body. The Snatcher leader was holding a mug of tea and a plate of food; home-made hashbrowns, scrambled eggs, bacon (a commodity among those living in the woods, since it was hard to keep fresh even with magic after a while). He placed them on the table, and put two small bottles beside the tea.

He turned to face her, finding her mid-movement, her shirt being held just under her bust.

"And she returns from the dead." He murmured, smirking as he closed the space between them. "Surely I didn't tire you out _that_ much, beautiful?"

"No, but it contributed. I forgot how nice having a tent actually is, after sleeping in a hollow-out log." She replied, pulling her shirt down all the way. The tiny pout that crossed his face did not go unnoticed. "What time is it?"

He pulled out a small silver watch from his pants pocket. "Seven-oh-nine in the AM. The men are still asleep, lazy arses…"

She nodded, giving a weak smile as a thanks. Scabior held her forearms, peering down at her with a puzzled expression for a brief moment before capturing her lips harshly. He broke away, still holding onto her arms.

"Eat up, it's a rare time I bother to make anythin' myself. There's a mornin'-after potion and a potion to relieve any pain you might be havin'."

Riley gave him an odd look. "Thanks."

The snarky, confident girl from yesterday was gone, replaced with a quiet, pensive one. Not that he minded, since silence was something he enjoyed-it meant no back-talking, no questioning his authority. But from her it created a slightly awkward atmosphere. The kind that came from having a one-night stand and then not making it out in time and being there when the other woke up.

He was a Snatcher. It was his job to bring people like her, and Muggleborns, in for ransoms. His acts of kindness made her suspicious, but her hunger was winning out.

Scabior nodded, letting go of her arms to put his hands back in his coat pockets. He turned to head back outside, but turned on his heel just before he left. "Why didn't you jus' Dissapparate? Why stay in the woods with no supplies?"

"It's not like I had the means to get supplies, either. Stealing's not my forte; I was the one to go and glimpse at prices, plan out what we needed and where we would head according to rumors I heard."

"Information's jus' as good as gold these days, love."

"Well, I don't have any to give. I was hoping to stumble onto someone from my camp or run into a bunch of Muggles kind enough to take on another for a brief time."

He left, leaving her to eat alone. Which was fine with her, because it spared her the embarrassment of nabbing the potions and hastily swallowing them. It also saved her from seeing him go through an ego-trip over the fact that she was still sore. The pain ebbed away, and she found herself nibbling away at the plate of food and sipping the tea. If she ate too much, she'd simply get sick from not having eaten much lately. It wasn't great; she didn't expect the leader of a band of Snatchers to be able to really cook, but it was better than what she'd been having. She hardly cared that she had no utensils; food was food.

A part of her felt ashamed, using her body to gain a one-time pass from being handed over to the Ministry. They didn't know each other, and yet they knew each other very intimately. That wasn't to say she didn't like it, because she did. At least her first time had been with a guy who knew what he was doing. The part that wasn't busy feeling ashamed was back to wanting Scabior.

Riley, having finished her plate and not quite wanting to stay in the tent, peered out of the canvas with the plate in hand. Scabior was rummaging through the sacks of food, charmed to hold more than they appeared to, and making a list. Inventory.

"Jus' leave it over there on the pile." He waved a hand in the general direction of the fire; a stack of plates, sill dirty from dinner, was waiting to be spelled clean.

She knew that had there not been barriers up, some woodland animal would have come along and pillaged the camp.

He walked over to her, a small bag in hand. He slung it around her so it hung across her body. "That's about a week's worth o' food, maybe more if you ration it righ'. There's a small bag of gold-when I say small, I mean you 'ave just enough to buy a tiny tent an' cot."

"All because I slept with you?" She seemed skeptical. "I don't understand. You feed me, give me provisions. You could have tossed me out of your tent and left me."

"That was the bargain. Sex for your scarf an' freedom. Granted, I guess it's more virginity for your scarf an' freedom but I'm a man o' my word. You can't very well be free if you 'ave no food an' shelter. 'nd I won't put a woman through the burden of 'avin' a child I won't be around for. Blood traitor or not, you don't deserve that."

She got the feeling he spoke on a level of personal experience with that last statement. It wasn't her place to ask.

He pulled out the scarf from his pocket, the material having lost her scent and replaced with leather and campfire and cigarettes. He tied it around her neck, tugging at the knot so it hung away from her neck. He still held onto the material as he pulled her closer.

"You won' get off so easy the next time we meet, little Riley." His eyes were half-lidded, staring down at her with the intensity of a predator cornering its prey.

"Well then, may we never see each other again." It was supposed to be an attempt at the cheek she had the previous day, but it seemed half-hearted. As if she didn't really want to leave.

"If you can stay away, beautiful."

He stooped down to kiss her, tangling one hand into her hair, holding her to him. His tongue met with hers, and the taste of tobacco was mixed with coffee this time. His other hand slipped her wand from his jacket, pressing it into her hand. He broke off, and pointed her away from the camp.

She walked off, not looking behind her. Because there were more words that he left unsaid with that last statement. Words they both knew to be true.

_Because I don't think you can._

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><p><strong>I couldn't exactly figure out how to end it, so I went with this. It concludes this short little story, but leaves it open enough where I can write something else if I so wish to.<br>**

**Well, thanks for reading. :]  
><strong>


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